


I Just Wanted

by artesiaminor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battle, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Whump, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artesiaminor/pseuds/artesiaminor
Summary: Felix awakes after a brutal last strike of the Empire buried under the bodies of his battalion. He's the only one alive, and he cannot move.He's going to die among the dead.And he realizes everything he ever wanted had been right in front of him, yet he'd done nothing but push it all away.He must be a fool.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 33
Kudos: 469





	I Just Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted on here before. In fact, I'm brand new to writing fan-fiction. Let me know what tags I need or if anything needs to change. I had formatting like italics and stuff, but it was all gone when I posted on here but maybe that will change when it's actually published. 
> 
> I do see the "no beta we die like glenn" tag all over the place, and I think I understand it so I included it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy!

Everything was bleary in the light. It would be a nice day, if they weren’t fighting. It would be a nice day to take a wooden sword and destroy a dummy. A nice day to run by the lake. It certainly would turn into one of those nice nights where Sylvain badgered him into playing chess, and Sylvain would win, and Felix would say that he wasn't even trying even though he had been.

It was a terrible day to gut an old friend with his sword.

That was what Felix had been doing, instead of all the nice things that this day could have been full of. The battle with the Imperial army seemed never ending. That was, until now.

Felix had awoken on his back, staring up at that clear blue. The sun was warm. The warmth of blood mixed with the cold of the mud, and the vibration of the ground from all the horses was numbed by the fact that Felix was lost in a sea of bodies that only moved because the ground was collapsing underneath them.

Why were there so many bodies around him?

A body began to move alongside him. It took a moment for Felix to recognize that it was one of the commanders to his battalion. He was lifeless. Cold. Felix’s chest constricted, and he felt the need to buck the commander off of him the moment his puppet-like arm came in contact with his shoulder. But, Felix couldn’t move. It was as though his limbs were cut apart from him, though glancing down he could see that was not the case. He didn’t know what was going on.

The air in his lungs felt sharp, like he was breathing in the wind of the coldest days in Fraldraius. 

Glancing above him, his stupid too long hair stuck over his eyes, and for some reason he couldn’t bring his hand up to brush it away. Through the dirty strands, he made out the bashed-in face of one of his archers. Dead as well. Something jabbed into Felix's back, and he recognized the feeling of a Pauldron digging into his side. 

_Sothis._ He was atop of another dead soldier. 

His left arm was pinned, and when Felix tried to move, he jerked his arm out from underneath yet another corpse, scorch marks all over their armor to the point where Felix couldn’t even tell who it had been. 

That was when Felix realized he was in a sea of dead soldiers. _His_ dead soldiers. 

His battalion had been wiped out. 

Their lifeless bodies wove around each other and cast a net, keeping Felix contained in a mountain of dead. The explosions of Bolganone and Thoron kept caused the ground to shake and crumble beneath them, unearthing slick mud to slide down into. Wind magic added its own force, the bodies rolling like tumbleweed. A soldier toppled over his face, rolling across his body, and Felix could do nothing but watch as it passed over him and lolled back into the mire. Felix himself was sinking into the mud, only afloat because of the corpses beneath him, but more soldiers were falling above him to push him down. The cold hands of his war dead were linked and draped over Felix himself, the chill of death ever present and all consuming. It was as though they were trying to reach for him and drag him down with them, weigh him down like bags of rocks. 

A hand passed over his face, the body of a lancer sliding across his chest. One of her eyes was taken out, but the other one was watching him, unblinking. Her fingers shifted due to the vibrations, he knew this, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts on reality. Instead he imagined her, in her horrid death, reaching to cover Felix's mouth and nose and stop his breathing. He imagined another one of his dead soldiers reaching in his chest to stop his beating heart by crushing it with their bare hands. 

Felix swore he felt their fingers grip his heart, it hammering against the prison of their hands, rebelling against its inevitable fate of being crushed. 

It was too much. Battle didn’t frighten Felix, nor did death, but this? This wasn’t battle. Felix would rather be dead. He wasn’t sure what this was, but it was overwhelming. Disoriented and lost, panting in that painful frigid air, Felix finally gathered enough oxygen into his lungs to react. 

All he could do was scream. 

The sound didn’t seem like it came from him. Wrenched out of his body, born from his blood that once boiled in war-driven rage, risen from the ice of his lungs; the scream rendered his throat raw. He was surrounded by blood and metal, but all the iron he could smell was coming from his own mouth. 

Fear buzzed about him, vibrated in his mouth, heart feeling like he was being electrocuted. Breath ragged, throat hot from being torn by the scream, lungs still frigid from fear, the scream faltered into a gasp and a sob. 

He was helpless. As limp and lifeless and frozen as the corpses around him. Stuck underneath a pile of his soldiers while he heard the battle rage on. Tears warmed his face of the cold mud and blood, and his eyes began to sting. 

Another blast rang through the air. Beyond the blood was the tinge of magic, dark and venomous, but also smelling like scorched earth and burnt flesh. The scent sparked something in Felix’s brain, and suddenly he remembered how he got in this position in the first place. 

Dark spires. Ragnarok. They had spun together, collided, enveloped Felix and his entire battalion. It had been Dorothea and Hubert working together to crush Felix and his battalion. Apparently he had gotten too close to finally getting Linhardt, who had been healing Edelgard this entire time. 

The next he knew, he was laying here. He was surprised he was even alive. He shouldn’t be. No one would expect him to be. 

No one would expect him to be. 

What came next was a panic like Felix had never felt before. Someone had taken a shield and smashed it broadside against his heart, lodging it into his throat. 

Felix called out again. Trying for anyone’s attention. Whether it was one of the Kingdom coming to save him or one of the Empire who’d just kill him instantly, anything would be better than this. 

No one came. 

Breathing was getting harder. Everything hurt. Felix had no idea how injured he was, but judging by the bodies around him, he knew he couldn’t have avoided the wreckage entirely. It surrounded him, every sense available was assaulted, and he himself was caged in the body of his destroyed battalion. 

Sight began to go blurry, his eyes were shaking. His heart hammered against his head, his throat, pulsing in his hands, but the organ was faltering. Failing. Giving up.

Felix heard screaming almost like his own, and found himself almost-praying. If someone else was in his position, he hoped they got out of it quick, whether by savior or by death. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Wouldn’t even wish it on the soldiers who killed Glenn. 

His eyes rolled back, and he shut them. Let the ground sink beneath him, pretended he was rolling with the tides of the ocean. Pretended he was anywhere but where he was. The screaming got louder. He wasn’t sure what he would die to, but he was hoping all other noise would fade. It didn’t. If this was death coming to claim him, he heard everything, and he wanted it to _stop_. 

He was _so_ tired. 

“Felix!” 

His gaze snapped open. Breath rushed into his lungs and left just as quickly. 

_He knew that voice_. 

“Felix!” 

_Sylvain_. Sylvain. Oh Goddess, it’s Sylvain. 

Gaze searching everywhere, Felix tried to peer through his messy hair, through the mass of bodies, trying to find him. Trying to find Sylvain and reach out, call out, do _something_. 

He stepped into view. Sylvain was broad, broad, broad, taking up almost all of Felix’s sight. Ragged, armor chipped away by hundreds of soldiers coming at it with everything they had. A quickly sealed gash was swollen on his forehead and he was caked with dried blood and dirt. 

Sylvain was calling his name. Lance of Ruin in one hand, his other outstretched as if he was going to pull Felix out of thin air. Sylvain was good at magic, but he wasn’t good enough. 

It terrified Felix how close he was, and yet Sylvain didn’t see him. That meant Felix was dragged down _deep_. He called out again, only to realize that while he thought he sounded like he was filling the air with his voice, it actually was barely catching on the wind. His chest felt like it caved in on itself, ribs collapsing, his body completely coming apart. 

He tried to build up and scream again, but he just didn’t have the strength. 

“Syl.” His voice was so weak and feeble, there was no way Sylvain heard him. 

“Felix!” Sylvain tried again, above him. “ _Felix!_ ” Sylvain's voice was roaring, using all of the air possible in his broad chest, in his big lungs. Roaring like Felix thought he had been. 

“Syl,” Felix called out. “Here.” He tried to breathe, but it came in dry and sharp, and he couldn’t hold the air in his lungs. “Here,” he said. It was a croak, a whimper, a nothing. 

Sylvain continued walking, tripping over a body that had begun to move, kicking it off as he continued to search. He looked around desperately, brown eyes bigger than Felix had ever seen them. He’d search for hours, but if he never looked down, he’d never see him. 

Then Sylvain was walking out of view. 

If Sylvain left now, Felix was done for. No one would find him. He’d be forgotten in this pile, fated to spend his final days to die slowly surrounded by all the people he failed. Surrounded by the smell of death that was wrought by Ragnarok and Hubert’s dark magic. He’d rot with them, and no one would know that he had been buried alive among them, because if anyone ever did find him, by the time they did he’d be dead and half decomposed. 

Hysteria struck like thunder, and in one last ditch attempt, he cried, “I’m here!” 

Sylvain stopped cold. He faced onward, away from Felix. But slowly, his gaze moved, and he caught sight of Felix from the corner of his eye. 

Pure horror. That was the expression on his best friend’s face. Pale as a sheet. Blown pupil staring at Felix underneath the mass of bodies, but nothing clicking — recognition but not understanding. Sylvain remained rigid, his eye trained on him like he was a target. Felix wasn’t sure what to think. 

A breath released. Sylvain's expression cracked. 

“Felix.” Rushing over, Sylvain slipped and nearly fell over a corpse. Using all fours, Sylvain steadied himself and pushed onwards, before making it in front of Felix. He stood above him, put the lance of ruin on his back, outstretched his arms and attempted to steady himself on the shifting pile of dead he stood upon. 

Seeing Sylvain so close made Felix break down. “Syl.” Dread overcame him and full tears were stinging his eyes as they mixed with the dirt and blood from his cheeks. “Sylvain.”

“Felix.” His voice was harsh, rattled, but firm. He was there. In front of him. 

Felix wasn’t going to die alone. 

Prying off some of the bodies, untangling the corpses from their web over his body, Felix watched as Sylvain tossed the dead to the side like they were ragdolls. Sylvain was strong, but this was that feverish strength that came only when one was about to snap. “Fe.” Another body, picked up and discarded in a way that would usually make Sylvain cringe. 

“Fe. Felix.” Tears were falling down Sylvain’s cheeks as he dug for him. “Felix. Felix, Felix, Felix.” 

It was a chant. Every time he said it, Felix’s heart felt like it was pierced. He couldn’t believe this was happening to them. That this nightmare was where they’d ended up. “Sylvain.” 

Finally, Sylvain’s hands were on him. Big, sturdy, placed on his chest, the other reaching up to his face. Felix flinched. 

“Fe. It’s me.” 

He _knew._ He knew, but he couldn’t help himself. The gauntlet of the lancer came to mind, the woman, reaching up to cover his mouth. Clutch at his chest. Kill him instantly.

But he wasn’t here to do that. Sylvain was not reaching to cover Felix's mouth but to pull him up from the sea of bodies, not to be tossed aside but crushed to his chest. 

“Syl.” Felix sobbed. Sylvain’s arms wrapped around him, clutching him close, and Felix began to quiver, crying into the cold crook of Sylvain’s neck. Sylvain was stable despite everything, whereas Felix was a disaster despite having trained so hard not to be. He cried harder.

“Felix.” Sylvain smoothed his hands everywhere, trying to figure out how to keep Felix upright, since he was useless on his own. 

He couldn’t move his arms to wrap around Sylvain, all he could do was say his name in reply. 

An arm supported between Felix’s shoulders and Sylvain’s hand fisted in Felix’s hair. Sylvain with tentative fingers brushed the dirty, mire soaked strands off of Felix’s face and caressed his face with his gloved hand. “Got you. I have you,” he breathed. “I have you now.” The other arm wrapped around Felix’s hips, and at the pass of Sylvain’s arm on the left side of his hip Felix let out a strangled cry.

Well, at least he could feel the pain. Wasn’t paralyzed. And he had been right, the wreckage had indeed gotten to him. There was a nasty wound there, and both he and Sylvain knew it. 

“ _Fe._ ” Sylvain immediately shifted, trying to reposition. 

His eyebrows picked up, and his mouth gaped. Sylvain brought up his hand, and both he and Felix looked at the amount of red that had covered the gauntlet after such a short brush over the wound. There it was. He’d known he was injured, even though he hadn’t felt anything the entire time he was laying down. Felix had been so absorbed in all the other sensations that pain was an afterthought. 

It wasn’t good. And now that Felix knew it was there, it _burned_. 

Now that his limbs weren’t being numbed by the dead weight that had been covering him, Felix was able to move a little. Pins and needles, it was as if his body was rung like a bell, but he still moved to bring his hand across Sylvain’s chest, letting his fingers curl around the edges of his armor. 

“Sylvain.” His head felt so _heavy_. “I’m…” blood dripped down the corner of his mouth. Felix fought to breathe, the effort creating this wheezing, groaning feeling. He tried to shake it off and nod Sylvain on. “We…”

Sylvain nodded, like he’d actually managed something intelligible. He gripped Felix again, and this time Felix didn’t cry out as harshly. Picking him up, Sylvain stood on wobbly legs, and knocked their foreheads together. “Stay with me.” When he began to move, Felix seethed and his vision went black and blue for a moment. “Stay, please.” 

“Tryin’,” Felix managed. 

“I know.” Sylvain pressed him a little closer. “You’ve done good, Felix. So good. Just a little bit longer.” 

“Till what?”

“Hm?”

“A little longer…” the words bubbled in Felix’s throat. Blood gargling like spit. “till what?”

Sylvain pet Felix’s hair. “Empire’s retreating. We’re heading back."

The words were turned over like a stone in his mind. The Boar was probably livid, missing his chance to cut Edelgard’s head off her shoulders. “Dimitri…”

“Don’t worry about him.” Sylvain said gruffly. Felix realized he was damn near running. “You focus on you. I’ve finally found you, so don’t —“ Sylvain’s voice made this choking noise. “We promised. So stay with me.” 

Felix hummed. Wasn’t sure he could keep their promise. But he was trying. 

They made it to Sylvain’s horse and, before Felix could even think about how they were going to manage, Sylvain tossed him up. The smash of Felix's hip against the saddle had him reeling, and he grit his teeth. Sylvain brought a hand to the nape of Felix’s neck, holding him still. “I’m sorry —“

“No, don’t.” Despite his circumstances, Felix snorted. More blood spilled out of his lips, but he tried to ignore that. “Keeps me up.” 

A small softness reached Sylvain’s face. He hopped on the horse behind him, wrapping an arm around Felix. Strong against his back. Sylvain leaned forward to speak in Felix’s ear. “I tap twice on you, you tap twice back. Got it? If you need me to stop, you tap three times or just shout if you can.” 

They were in a _war zone_ , there was no stopping as far as Felix knew. But he nodded. Then he leaned back and rested his head on Sylvain’s shoulder. 

“Got ya. I’ve got ya,” he heard Sylvain say. 

Despite being in said war zone, with Sylvain he felt so safe it hurt in an entirely new way. If he died right now, he’d be okay. In Sylvain’s arms, this was better. When he dared himself to dream of a comfortable death, it looked something like this.

Yet he knew Sylvain would kill him if he let it happen that easily. Or blame himself, which was worse. 

The horse began to trot, and it hurt like a bitch. Pain caused his mind to be completely interrupted, sharp pangs the only thing he could sense. He coughed up more blood, it starting to dribble down his chin. When he breathed through his nose, it was wet. 

Felix wasn’t stupid. These were the signs of dying. 

Looking around them, it was the wreckage of war. Bloody remains of monsters splattered everywhere. Corpses littered the ground. The grass was burnt away. The earth was in carnage while above, Felix still saw the sun shining. Too bright, making all this death glow in the light of midday. 

Felix closed his eyes for a moment, feeling restful. The warm sun beating on his face. He felt so cold wherever the sun didn’t touch, wherever he didn’t have the support of Sylvain. 

Two pats to his leg. Felix reached to Sylvain’s leg and gave two pats back. 

Felix looked around them and was astounded. Buildings used to be on this land, though sparingly. Old farms and things of that like. They were completely gone. There was no inclination that anything was there in the first place. In fact, the whole land, the trees, the flowers, that once filled this field. They were gone. Everything was black, ash, and bloodstained metal. 

He’d been born of battle. With endless training, Felix had managed to survive many of them. This was not what most battles ended up looking like. Even when he was injured, even when it was terrible, there were signs of life that remained. This was different. This whole part of Fódlan was destroyed now. Worse than what had remained of Duscur, which hadn’t been much. 

He coughed again and brought a hand up to his mouth. Blood was caught in his throat like clots. The pain felt like he was being hit repeatedly with something dull, everything kind of numb in its blooming hurt. His vision was starting to ebb into darkness. 

Sylvain gave two pats. Weakly, Felix replied with two pats. 

“You okay?” Sylvain all but shouted in his ear. 

He thought to lie. Let it end with two pats on Sylvain’s leg. But he thought better of it. His vision was fading, it was almost entirely black. Lying wasn’t a good idea. The last thing he wanted for Sylvain was for him to make it all the way back to camp only to find out that Felix was just another corpse. 

He shook his head. Sucking in a breath, he coughed from the sheer sharpness of the air mixing in with the heat of his blood-filled lungs. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Sylvain shouted. “Remember, three pats.”

Felix shook his head again. His vision was almost black. It would be any moment now. “I’m done.”

“What?”

Felix felt the brush of his hair along his lips. Felix smiled at the closeness. His vision was black now, and his hearing was starting to fade, so he closed his eyes and focused real hard on it. “Thank you.” Before Sylvain could ask for what, Felix finished. “For finding me.” He coughed, then pat Sylvain's leg twice. “‘m Sorry.” 

It took a moment for it to register with Sylvain, but he got it. “Fe, we’re — “ they weren’t almost there, which is what Felix assumed was the reason for him to stop talking. But Sylvain’s fucking _voice_. Gravelly and desperate. With a sound like that, Felix wanted to do nothing but stay. He just didn’t know how anymore. 

“I can’t see, Syl,” Felix told him. His breath stuttered, his voice breaking. 

Sylvain tucked Felix in further, but the pain in his hip did nothing to bring back his vision. His thoughts were growing cloudy. The only thing that was solid was Sylvain at his back. 

Sylvain released a hot breath. “Okay. It’s okay.” His voice shook. The words of assurance were clearly for Felix’s benefit only. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m right here. You just lean back and relax, and — and I’ll hold onto you. I'll hold onto you, Felix. It's alright."

Any other time, Felix would argue. This wasn't alright. He shouldn't just let himself die. He didn't want to let himself die, because he didn't want Sylvain to let himself die. But at the moment, Felix was so _tired_. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt _safe_.

He felt Sylvain's nose press into the top of his skull. He continued murmuring, but the words were beginning to drone out. The sound, however, was distinctly Sylvain.

Sylvain had always been there for him. Ever since they were kids. When Felix was nothing but soft and vulnerable and crying all the time, Sylvain had been there. Later, when he was too proud, and would dig a hole somewhere to let his emotions out, Sylvain had found him and swept him back up. Every time, Felix knew that he was safe with Sylvain. 

It felt achingly good to feel so safe. So what had he been doing for so long? Why did he deny the closeness of him? Why did he desert him so he could stand alone? What was there to gain from that?

Before he could think of an answer, he fell into the black. 

There was a hand laced with his. An arm draped over his stomach. The body was warm, imbued him with warmth, and Felix didn’t even have to open his eyes to know who it was giving it to him. 

It was comforting. Nice to wake up to, but Felix had not believed he’d be waking up. 

Usually after being unconscious Felix didn’t remember how he became unconscious. Usually the memory was hazy and confusing, and didn’t feel real even if it was correct. This time, it pushed into his brain the moment he was conscious. Swung itself through any other thought, the memory cutting through like an axe. Dark spires. Ragnarok. His dead battalion. Hubert, Dorothea. 

Sylvain. 

Sylvain was a constant, the only thing still with him from then to now. 

Afraid to open his eyes and discover that the sensation was some fever dream, he held still for a moment longer. There was no galloping of horses, no stone cold skin touching him. There wasn’t even sunshine warming his face. The only thing he could really hear was the brushing of a calloused thumb against his knuckles, moving in slow, kind strokes. 

_Goddess_ , Sylvain didn’t even know he was conscious and he was there for him. 

He sucked in a breath and was startled by the fact he was still in pain. Throat still raw. Couldn’t wake up to all the kindness in the world, Felix supposed. Everything hurt still, his mind felt like it was on fire.

Curling his fingers around the hand that held his, Felix finally opened his eyes to a squint. 

There he was. Sylvain. Chin resting upon the arm holding Felix’s hand, the other draped over Felix like he’d leap up on the bed and protect him at any sign of trouble. He was shirtless but covered in wraps — Felix hadn’t known he had gotten injured — and he looked pensive. So deep in thought he wasn’t even registering that Felix was curling his fingers around him. 

How long had Sylvain been like this? There was a shadow of stubble on his face. Papers were stacked next to him, books half open. Felix had no idea what time it was. 

_“I tap twice on you, you tap twice back. Got it?”_

Felix curled his fingers more and squeezed his hand twice. Sylvain's attention all but snapped. Eyes widening, he pulled himself upright and clasped Felix’s hand with his two. Then he squeezed his hand twice. Felix repeated it back. 

The smile that cracked across Sylvain’s face made him fall apart inside. He looked so pleased, so _relieved_. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey!” Sylvain stroked the inside of Felix’s wrist and tipped forward. 

“Hey,” Felix croaked. He sounded like _shit_. 

"I, I'm so glad, I..." The emotions clawed at Sylvain's throat, Felix watched as so many expressions danced across his face. It seemed to render him speechless. So, instead, Sylvain reached up and brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “How - how are you feeling?” 

Felix gave a small shake of his head, shrugging it off. He felt like trash, but didn't want Sylvain to know. Limply, he reached a hand up, placing his hand over Sylvain’s and holding it there. “You?”

“I’m alright.”

Felix glanced over the wraps that covered Sylvain’s torso. Across his shoulder, down his back, surrounding his waist. Sylvain shook his head and tapped Felix's cheek with his thumb. 

“I’m fine, Felix.” 

“Before or after?” Felix croaked. 

A glazed look crossed over Sylvain’s face. Then he gave that smile, that glossing smile that was meant to charm people into thinking they already knew the answer, that it was the one they wanted it to be, and they could pretend everything was fine. “Before.” 

“Don’t do that to me.”

Sylvain cringed, his touch on Felix tensing up. “Don't worry about it."

Felix glared at him. “Idiot,” he said, but it lacked any venom. _I worry anyway, you dolt._ "How?” He had blacked out. Useless. An anchor for Sylvain to get injured. But he’d thought… “Wasn’t the empire retreating?”

Sylvain shrugged. “Ran across some of the straggling empire soldiers on my way back. Wanted to get their last shots in.” If Felix had the energy to be angry, he would be. Instead, the knowledge drained him. Sylvain seemed to know it too, because he brought a hand to Felix’s temple and smoothed his hair back, cradling Felix’s face in both hands. “I really am fine, Fe. It was you I was worried about. You…” Sylvain gulped, his Adam’s Apple bobbing harshly. “You talked to me like you were about to die.” 

“Thought I was,” Felix said. He had to speak slowly, or else the pressure in his lungs felt like it would crack him open down his chest. “I thought it would be better, for you, if you knew you might be bringing a corpse back to camp. So you didn’t think that you’d failed something.” Felix closed his eyes for a moment, lost in the sensations of Sylvain’s fingers stroking his cheek or combing through his hair. “Wanted you to be warned.” 

“Well, you managed to scare me to death.” 

Felix winced and opened his eyes to see the look on Sylvain’s face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s — that’s a very you way of thinking. I should’ve known.”

Felix smiled at that. 

Sylvain's focus was undiluted, solely on Felix. His gaze went from appreciative and knowing to soft, and he let out a sweet breath. “Thank Sothis you’re alive, though."

Felix scoffed. “The goddess had nothing to do with it. Fuck the goddess,” he said. Sylvain blinked, a bit taken aback at the change in tone, but Felix knew he would get over his initial shock. They both knew how the other felt about the church, and they both weren’t fans. Felix met Sylvain’s gaze and stared at him. He curled his hands over both of Sylvain’s wrists, trying to be clear: “Thank _you_ , Syl.”

That statement Sylvain might not lose his shock over. His eyes were big, bigger than Felix had ever seen them, in an almost awe of him. “Of — of course. Anytime. Always.” 

Felix actually laughed at that. His heart felt like a sunbeam, glowing and weightless. “Hope it doesn’t happen again.” His voice creaked like an old ship, pathetically weak. 

Sylvain gave a sheepish smile. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“I do. I feel the same.” 

A cough, a curling into himself, Sylvain was looking away from Felix now. He retreated and scratched the back of his head, trying to bark out a laugh. It was utterly mirthless. “You’re… forward.” His breathing was harsh, and Felix could see Sylvain was trembling. 

It dawned on Felix that it was because Sylvain wasn’t used to Felix speaking like this. That realization had a similar sensation to being bucked off a horse, leaving Felix breathless and unsure which way was up. Felix knew that he rarely expressed himself without adding some cutting words to harden the vulnerable things he felt, but the fact that Sylvain seemed so flustered made Felix ashamed. 

For so long he’d been so rough, trying to sprint away from the weeping child that Sylvain had known, he’d now done too much of a reversal. He hadn’t cared before, Sylvain had done his part to welcome the change. But Felix needed to rectify this. Sylvain shouldn’t be unsure that Felix felt anything but absolute love for him. 

What if he had died, and Sylvain lived on with doubts about how Felix felt? Without knowing how to balance the nasty things Felix said to him with the kind ones? No, Sylvain deserved so much better than that. Felix owed him better. 

Felix wanted to be better to him. 

“Syl.” Felix reached out for him. “You okay?” 

“I’m good.” He didn’t put his hand in Felix’s. Felix reached further. 

“Sylvain.”

He rested his head in his hand, cheek squished underneath his big palm. He looked over Felix with an amused glint in his eyes. “You worry too much.”

Felix wanted to rebuke that, but opted to ignore it. Instead he reached out again and stretched his fingers out wide as they could go. Sylvain huffed a chuckle and placed his hand back in his. Then, with all the strength Felix could muster, he tugged Sylvain into the bed. That earned him a real laugh and a quirk to Sylvain’s red eyebrows. “Hey — what are you doing?” 

“C’mere.”

His mouth hung open and he looked over Felix. “What?” 

“C’mon,” Felix said. 

What Felix was asking for clicked, and his eyes darkened. “Fe, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t,” Felix remarked. Sylvain gave him a blank stare. Felix rolled his eyes. “You won’t."

“Felix, you’re still healing, you lost so much blood —“

The ache in Sylvain’s voice was not lost on him, but Felix barreled on anyway. “I’m fine. I’ll direct you. It’ll be fine.” 

With a bemused but confused tilt to his thin lips, Sylvain nodded and stood up. He pressed his knees onto the side of the bed and clung to the edge of it. Felix pulled him so that Sylvain was forced to straddle him, and he placed his hands into the mattress on either side of Felix’s head. The position made them both burn bright, and Felix knew what it looked like he was asking. That wasn’t really what Felix was trying to convey, however. _That_ activity was something he couldn’t do right now even if he wanted to. 

“What are you trying to do?” Sylvain asked, chuckling but he still looked nervous. Trembling. Blush warming across his cheeks. Mouth agape with incredulousness. “Am I where you want me?” he asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm. 

“Not yet,” Felix mumbled. He tapped Sylvain’s knee so that he could move one of the blankets that was over the top of him, shifting it down beneath the two of them. He grit his teeth. Once the blanket was past Sylvain, he reached up, touched the back of Sylvain’s nape and lowered him down. Every now and then, Sylvain would stop, assessing how close their bodies would get, and Felix would just tug on his nape again to get him to keep going. 

Finally, Sylvain was laying over the top of him, Felix completely enveloped in the warmth of his broad body. 

Sylvain watched, struck dumb, following wordlessly. Felix offered no explanation. Reaching below, he grabbed the blanket and covered Sylvain and himself with it, before wrapping one arm over Sylvain’s waist and resting his other arm over his large back. He tangled a hand into Sylvain’s coppery locks.

“It’s alright. You can relax.” Felix tried to keep even breaths, though he couldn’t breathe all that deeply, to soothe Sylvain.

“Are you alright?” Sylvain asked with a shaky voice.

"I'm okay." Felix began stroking his hair, dragging his fingertips from the crown of Sylvain’s head down the to the nape. “Is this alright?"

Felix had been in love with Sylvain for so long, and spent most of it denying it vehemently. Sylvain knew, and Felix was pretty sure he felt the same, but they both refused to acknowledge it because of… well, Felix. Because Felix couldn’t bring himself to feel so openly. Because Felix was frightened of the glances of others when they realized he needed more in life than a sword and another fight. Because Felix was a feckless coward who thought he was invincible until he was shown that he so obviously wasn’t.

Even through it all, Sylvain stuck with him. Found him in the mass of dead bodies where Felix’s stubbornness had led him.

Sylvain let out this stuttering breath and began to shift, leaning closer, but trembling harder. “Felix, you don’t have to do this. I'm fine."

“I want to. If you do.” Felix assured. Sterner than he intended to be. He tried to soften it. “But if you’re not okay, that’s fine.”

It was a hard switch. This whole damn life felt like a hard switch. Every time he got his ground underneath his feet, something else pulled it out from under him.

“I’m just confused.”

How was he to convey this? Their pact had been that they died together, but Felix wanted more. So much more. The moment he heard Sylvain while covered by bodies Felix realized that he didn’t want to die like that, and didn’t want Sylvain to die with him. He wanted to live together. In the moments of death he imagined a future where they were both alive and happy and well. Laid out on his back over the dead of his own battalion he realized that he regretted every moment Sylvain used to touch him and he'd peeled away, mocked him, yelled at him when he was particularly embarrassed.

Finally, Felix was mad at himself for being embarrassed when Sylvain was just trying to show affection. Because the future he pictured was embarrassingly full of affection, and, in those final moments, he thought he was never going to have it.

“Felix?”

"I just wanted to lay with you.”

Felix could feel Sylvain’s chest hitch. They laid still for a moment, Felix brought his fingers up to gently stroke the scar on his face, before reaching higher and carding his fingers through Sylvain's hair, curling his hand into the strands at Sylvain’s nape. Then Sylvain pressed his face into Felix’s neck.

“Ah, Felix. You’re all heart.”

“Sometimes.”

“All the time,” Sylvain whispered. “All the time."

“No,” Felix said. “I’ve been so stupid, Syl."

Sylvain shook his head, his nose brushing against Felix’s throat. Felix wrapped his arms tighter around him, tucking Sylvain properly against his chest, his chin resting on top of his head. He wanted to repay Sylvain, in a way, for holding him through what they thought was going to be Felix's final moments. 

“I thought you died.” Sylvain’s voice was watery and harsh. “You basically told me you did. That you were about to."

“I know."

“When you called out among the bodies I… I didn’t know what I was seeing. I saw your body, but honestly, I thought I had hallucinated your voice. Thought, for a moment, that my brain just couldn’t handle the thought that you were dead so I was just making it up.” Sylvain laughed, but it was so utterly mirthless it might as well have been a sob. “But what you were saying wasn’t right. You would have called me an idiot, I think, if it was my hallucination.”

Felix chuckled, but he had tears in his eyes. “I do call you that a lot.”

A mangled sound came from deep in Sylvain’s chest and it rose out as a sob this time. “Goddess, Felix, you were so _hurt_.”

"I'm okay now, I think," Felix tried to comfort. Sylvain looked undeterred. "I feel okay." A little loopy and aching, but nothing like before. 

Sylvain rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder and began stroking a thumb near his collarbone. His other hand reached to trace near but not on Felix's hip. Where the deep gash was. Where the ache was buried deep. Felix shivered. “We all saw what happened to your battalion on that field, but we were all so far away...”

“If you’d been any closer, you would have died, too.” Felix sighed. He hugged Sylvain closer, if that were possible. Tugged the blanket around the two of them as if that could shield them from the world. “Would have ended up like the rest of my fucking battalion.” Felix didn’t know what he was going to do with all that weight. At least Sylvain wasn’t among it. That was a burden that would have broken him, he was sure.

“I know, It should have been —“

Felix stilted, rushing to cup the back of Sylvain’s head. “Not now.” He didn’t want to hear Sylvain’s self-loathing. Didn’t want to hear how Felix was worth more than him. It wasn’t true, and Felix didn’t think he could handle listening to it. “Not right now.”

Sylvain’s hand trailed from Felix’s shoulder down his chest and over his heart. “Okay.”

 _Okay_. Felix huffed a laugh at that. Sylvain always followed him. Obedient, in a way, but too smart for it to be considered blind. Felix trailed his fingers down Sylvain’s spine, his fingers catching on some of the bandages. “Another promise."

“Mm?”

Sylvain shifted, and Felix let his hand fall from his hair down. He shimmied upwards so that he could look Felix straight in the face. Their noses brushed together. Sylvain wove a hand into Felix’s hair, and Felix’s eyes fluttered closed. “We survive the war,” he said. “We do what we can to survive the war.”

“Weren't we already?”

Felix cringed. “I wasn’t.”

No, Felix was just barreling on, trying to battle anything that dared come at him. Wanted to put his skills to the test. Wanted to prove that he was a fighter, whatever that meant.

With the hand in his hair, Sylvain pulled him, gently, to tip his head down. Then he pressed a kiss to Felix's forehead. The crown of his head. Into his hair. Even though Felix had started this at first as a way to finally be a comfort to Sylvain, leave it to the copper-haired man to turn it around and provide Felix with affection so strong it might as well have been devotion.

“Deal, then,” Sylvain breathed. “It’s a deal. We survive.” Sylvain pressed a kiss to his temple, divinely sweet. “I _love_ you, Fe. You know?”

“Me too. Love you, I mean.” Pressing himself into Sylvain, he kissed him on his mouth. It caused Sylvain's breath to stutter, but Felix pressed on anyway, even though he’d never kissed anybody and Sylvain had kissed maybe hundreds. He’d always imagined Sylvain kissing him first so that he didn’t fuck it up too terribly, but in the infirmary he couldn’t bring himself to care about that.

He brought a hand to Sylvain’s shoulder and another to cup his jaw and kissed him with all the energy he had left in him.

Sylvain kept the hand in Felix’s hair, as if to control him. Eased him back. Brought the kiss back to something that was actually enjoyable instead of the mess that Felix was intent on making it. Made it into something soothing, instead of an act of desperation. It was still an act of desperation, but it wasn’t a disaster, like all of Felix’s raw emotions had been showing themselves to be.

“You don’t leave me,” Sylvain mumbled against his lips. “Don’t go anywhere, Felix. You stay with me.”

They couldn’t get any closer unless they merged into one. Felix gulped, trying to catch his breath again. He brushed his lips against Sylvain’s again, but didn’t kiss him. Instead he said, “that’s the plan.”

"Good." Sylvain let himself slump against the infirmary bed again. Felix revelled in the weight of him, slightly aware of how sore he was. With Sylvain on top of him, he could ignore all that, though. "Good."

They laid together for a long time, slow breaths, just basking in the comfort of one another. A few times healers came in and checked in on them, but they left before they could break the intimacy that the two held together. They murmured in each other's ear, Felix murmuring almost-nothings with the occasional statement that would make Sylvain come undone, whereas Sylvain had a constant stream of praise and adoration.

"I should get up. Let you rest. This can't be good for you, long term."

Sylvain made move like he was going to get up. Felix clutched at him with quivering hands.

"If you're just getting up 'cause you're worried about me, don't," Felix said. He tried to sound gruff, but it came out a bit needy. "I'm perfectly fine. I'll tell you if it hurts."

That made Sylvain chuckle. Felix liked that he could feel it on his own chest.

"Okay." Sylvain lowered himself back down. "Okay. Fine, then. I'm not going anywhere. However, you owe me when we get the wrath of Mercie when she inevitably yells at us."

Felix huffed a sigh. "Deal."


End file.
